Discworld versus Angels
by Old Toad
Summary: The Doctor looks for Weeping Angels on Discworld and finds them. Fortunately, the Disc has its own means of defeating the Angels, and it's not magic.
1. Death and the Doctor

**1 - DEATH AND THE DOCTOR**

Pottering contentedly around his kitchen, Albert heard his master arrive back and go into his study. Albert smiled; his great pleasure was unchanging, undemanding routine. Then there was a sudden loud noise, not from the study and definitely not routine. He advanced into the hall, greasy frying pan still in hand. Someone or something was using the impressively large knocker on Death's impressive front door, a door that nobody ever used. Until now. Nobody called on Death in his own home.

ANSWER THE DOOR, ALBERT. WE HAVE A VISITOR.

Albert deliberated: should he answer the door with frying pan in hand, just in case? He reminded himself that he was the wizard Alberto Malich the Wise, put it down, squared his shoulders, and walked purposefully to the door. He opened it to reveal a living man – or an excellent simulacrum of one.

"I have come to see Death," said the stranger calmly.

"What name shall I say, sir?"

"He knows me as The Doctor."

WHO IS IT, ALBERT?

"He says he is The Doctor."

I DO NOT RECALL ASKING FOR A HOME VISIT. AND MY MEMORY IS VERY GOOD."

The Doctor called over Albert's head. "The Time Lord!"

AH, THAT DOCTOR. SHOW HIM INTO THE FRONT PARLOUR.

The Doctor was studying a framed likeness of Ysabell, Death's adopted daughter – in monochrome, naturally – when Death came in.

A SURPRISE VISIT, DOCTOR. I LIKE THAT, IT IS SOMETHING OF A NOVELTY. YOUR TRAVEL-BOX IS IN THE GARDEN?

"No, actually. This place is rather like a TARDIS, it is outside of time and space. Bringing the TARDIS here could set up a rather nasty … thingy. I came by a more traditional method.

OH?

"I was in Ankh-Morpork, saw you about to leave on your horse and grabbed hold of his tail."

THAT WOULD EXPLAIN THE STRAW IN YOUR HAIR.

"Yes. It could have been worse."

ALBERT, COFFEE FOR OUR GUEST.

Almost immediately, Albert was in with a tray with coffee jug, cups, sugar, cream, biscuits, etc.

INSTANT COFFEE, ALBERT?

"I try to anticipate, Master."

THANK YOU, ALBERT, JUST MY LITTLE JOKE.

"I would like Albert to stay, if you don't mind," said the Doctor.

OF COURSE. BUT FIRST, PLEASE RETURN THAT FRYING PAN TO THE KITCHEN, ALBERT. WE HAVE STANDARDS TO MAINTAIN.

Albert returned with an extra cup and saucer and poured coffee for three.

"There are some very dangerous creatures in the universe I come from that are trying to break through into Discworld. They must be stopped."

DALEKS?

"They are here too?"

NO LONGER. A WIZARD UNWISELY SUMMONED ONE. I WAS KEPT PROFESSIONALLY ENGAGED AT THE UNSEEN UNIVERSITY UNTIL THEY MANAGED TO SEND IT BACK. ALBERT HELPED.

"The Weeping Angels are a less obvious threat, but once here they could slowly take over. No one would be safe. In fact, they would thrive on Discworld, it's their sort of place."

THEN THEY ARE NOT ON DISCWORLD YET?

"They may be. I think that they originated here and then spread across the universes. They evolved out there and are now coming home."

Death took his coffee black and very sweet. "Cream, Doctor? Sugar?" asked Albert.

"Both. Three sugars, I have a sweet tooth. … Now where was I? Oh, yes: Weeping Angels. Their big trick is sending people back into the past. It is how they gain strength."

BACK INTO THE PAST? HOW FAR BACK?

"Good question. Have you ever known anyone to die years before they were born?"

THAT WOULD BE REMARKABLE INDEED.

"I thought you might notice such a thing."

I AM NOT SURE.

"These creatures will send someone back many years in time just by touching them. Those I have seen look exactly like statues – the sort you see in graveyards: a draped female form with wings, often with the hands covering the face. They can move rapidly, but only when no one is watching them. If anyone is looking at them they cannot move."

NO DANGER IN A CROWD, THEN. BUT FOR SOMEONE ALONE AT NIGHT? … I DID WONDER WHY HUMANS AVOID GRAVEYARDS AFTER DARK.

"That is a thought."

"Doctor," asked Albert, "these 'Angels' are like stone and cannot move if anyone is watching them? They sound easy to kill: pulverised in a flash of Octarine."

"I suspect they are much, much tougher than ordinary stone. And even if you could turn one to a heap of dust, that might not be the end. The 'statue' might reconstitute itself."

THEN HOW CAN THEY BE STOPPED?

"They cannot move if another Weeping Angel can see them. Two or more together can freeze each other, a literal dead-lock. Given long enough like that they will starve and die."

THERE HAVE BEEN NO SUCH DEATHS ON DISCWORLD. I WOULD KNOW.

Albert shook his head. "Excuse me Master, but I don't think your records include such creatures, they sound a little like Golems."

YOU MAY BE RIGHT, ALBERT. WOULD YOU KNOW HOW TO FIND ONE?

"There are many Golems in Ankh-Morpork, Master."

Somehow Death managed to convey a scowl.

"My little joke, Master, sorry. From the Doctor's description, one of the better class graveyards in Ankh-Morpork would be a good first place to look."

YES. OR PERHAPS THE BIG NEW CEMETRY ON THE EDGE OF THE CITY?

…**.**

The cemetery had impressive iron gates supported by substantial brick pillars; from the tops of each a stone angel looked down. There was a flicker of Octarine light and the Doctor and Alberto Malich appeared from nowhere right in front of the gates, on the very spot at which the stone angels were gazing with sorrowful looks. Alberto wore wizarding robes and carried his heavy wizard's staff.

"That was _brilliant_!" enthused the Doctor. "Are the robes and pointy hat necessary, or are they just for appearances?"

Alberto mumbled something about 'a wizard needs to look the part'. He looked around. "All this was fields when I was a lad. Cabbages as far as the eye could see."

"How long ago was that?"

"Two thousand years, give or take."

"Well, judging by those figures looking down on us, we've come to a likely place."

"Could they be what you're looking for? Should I give them - hideous modern art - a blast from my staff? Just in case, eh?"

"Oh, go on then! … Just a sec." The Doctor put on his dark glasses. "OK, take one out; show me what you can do."

It was rather like being narrowly missed by a lightning bolt: sudden, dazzling and deafening. The Doctor coughed and shook the fine stone dust out of his hair. "Well, that proves it: the Weeping Angels are here."

"How do you mean? Ugh, this dust is everywhere, perhaps I overdid it a trifle."

"You blasted just the one, yes? … Well both have gone!"

"But I did kill one: no coming back to life after that!" Alberto looked very pleased with himself.

"I very much hope so."

"Oh, come on, Doctor. Why the pessimism?"

"We know that the _other_ Angel is a Weeping Angel. As for the one you destroyed, well, it could have just been a proper statue."

"Phooey, man! We shall hunt down that other Angel, and I shall destroy it too."

The older part of the cemetery was neglected and overgrown: not just long grass, but thick, straggling bushes and trees. In among the greenery they saw funerary stoneware everywhere, with no shortage of angels, large and small. The Doctor had to persuade Alberto not to blast away at everything in sight. "We must concentrate on finding a definite Weeping Angel and then you can give it everything you've got."

"How will we know one?"

"Well first, it will look like one: drapery, winged, upright, hands covering the eyes."

"And secondly?"

"It won't be plastered with bird muck and lichen."

"Ah, I see where you're coming from."

They quickly found what they were looking for: a winged angel on a grave, hands halfway to its face, glaring at them. "Keep looking at it, do _not_ blink!" instructed the Doctor. He scanned the statue with his sonic screwdriver and tried to read it. He shook his head, touched the screwdriver to his dark glasses to darken them further, and said, "One last experiment: I'll look away, you just blink and we'll see if it has moved. Perhaps we should back away a bit first; they're fast movers."

They did this twice, and after the second blink there was no doubt: the Angel had moved a foot or two towards them, and its hands had moved towards its face. "Turn around quick!" yelled the Doctor. "It's an ambush!"

Alberto span around to find a second Angel almost in touching distance, its hands reaching out for him, its mouth threateningly agape. He brought up his staff and delivered a point-blank discharge of magic. The angel was lit up with a blinding flare of Octarine and in a blink of an eye was gone. They heard a great crashing and snapping of branches in the undergrowth. Alberto turned back and treated the first Angel in the same way. "Crafty blighters aren't they. Tough too, those blasts would have shattered granite. I'll find them and finish them off."

""No, don't, it's too dangerous. There may be others hiding among the greenery just waiting for us."

"I could blast all that away first. Simple stuff, any magician worth his staff could do it."

"Then leave it to them. We need a crowd of magicians in here to clear the place. And better light too, it will soon be sunset. With just the two of us we are vulnerable to attack."

"Very well! Though I'm sure I could handle them, come what may." The Doctor remained silent. "Well, perhaps caution is excusable. … How did you know it was an ambush?"

"Simple: the first Angel was both coming towards us and covering its eyes. It would only do that to avoid eye contact with a second Angel."

"You're not as slow as you look."

They walked further along the carriageway that ran straight ahead, avoiding the narrow, half-overgrown paths either side. A hundred yards on they came to a memorial structure much larger and more impressive than any they had seen so far. This was clear of vegetation, the stonework was clean and the marble polished. A couple of faded wreaths lay at its foot. Ornate lettering read:

**KNEE-ISH**

The Sto Planes Filocefur

.

"_What does not drown me, makes me wetter_"

.

"What is a filo-cefur?' mused the Doctor."

"A posh word for a pastry chef?"

"Ha ha. … Of course: it's a deliberate mis-spelling of 'philosopher'." The Doctor shushed Alberto when he tried to speak. "Let me think, this could be important. Think, think: I'm missing something." He slapped his forehead. "Of course: the Discworld 'filocefur' Knee-Ish: the Earth philosopher Nietzsche! … He is best known for _'Was mich nicht umbringt, macht mich stärker'._"

"Is that Klatchian?"

"It means 'What does not kill me, makes me stronger'. It's a warning, of course! I'm so slow: I shouldn't have needed it! Let's get out of here NOW, while we still can. If we still can. I'll explain later."

They ran as fast as old Alberto's legs allowed back towards the entrance, looking around constantly as they did so. Yet they must have blinked or looked away because they could see, well before they got there, that there was a row of Weeping Angels standing in front of the gates. And the gates were now closed!

"Now is my chance to really blast these creatures into oblivion! They won't know what hit them!"

"NO NO NO!" the Doctor practically shrieked. "You will only make them stronger: that's the point. When they are being observed, like right now – and keep looking behind so they don't creep up on us – they are quantum locked. They cannot move and are almost indestructible. I don't think your magic could harm them. Got that? … Good. They feed on various forms of energy, and your magic blasts are a feast. And the more they feed, the stronger, faster and more dangerous they become. … And the sun is setting, this is not good."

"Doctor, it is not so dark. Take off those eye things."

"Whoops." The Doctor pocketed his shades. "Can you magic us out of here?"

"Yes. No. Tricky, very: drawing an octagram while keeping both eyes on the lookout."

"You can do it."

A glowing circle was easily drawn, and left the Angels no nearer. Eight points were marked around the circle, and the Angels at the gates were covering their eyes. Half the lines were hastily drawn and there was a single Angel only a few feet away. "I'll keep looking at it, you hurry up with your octagram!"

"Doctor, back-to-back with me now!" There was a brilliant, rainbow flash and they found themselves outside the gates, on the spot where they had previously materialised. "Best I could do in a hurry." For the first time, Alberto sounded flustered.

The Doctor was almost reeling. "That was close! Had they touched us two they would have gained immense power: the whole city, perhaps the entire Disc, would have been theirs to take."

"And what would have happened to us?"

"Sent so far into the past that it would probably have killed us instantly. But we are not safe yet, this spot is deserted, we must get back into the city: safety in numbers!


	2. Finding Time

**2 – FINDING TIME**

Death stared them in the face. NOT EXACTLY MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

The Doctor looked sheepish. "Well, we now know they are here and where they are lurking."

AND YOU KNOW YOU CANNOT DEFEAT THEM. YOU ARE THE MOST POWERFUL MORTALS CURRENTLY ON THE DISC AND YOU HAD TO RUN FOR YOUR LIVES.

Death's facial expression, if he can be said to have one, is notoriously difficult to read, but Albert had had a lot of experience and he thought there was an amused twinkle deep in those eye sockets. "Master, you have an idea?"

THE HISTORY MONKS MIGHT HELP.

The Doctor was instantly alert. "They are _here_ on the Disc? Children on Gallifrey were told bed-time stories about The Order of Wen. If they exist anywhere it would be here, on the edge of unreality!"

THEY EXIST. YOU SAID THAT GIVEN LONG ENOUGH THE ANGELS WILL STARVE AND DIE? THE MONKS CAN GIVE THEM PLENTY OF TIME TO DIE IN.

"Where can I find these monks?"

THE HIGH RAMTOPS. I WILL TAKE YOU THERE, DOCTOR. YOU CAN RIDE WITH ME ON BINKY'S BACK.

"There is no need, I can use the TARDIS."

YOUR TRAVEL-BOX CAN TAKE YOU TO THE HIGH RAMTOPS, BUT THE VALLEY OF THE EVER-REPEATING DAY MAY BE … PROBLEMATICAL?

"Their control of time would prevent the TARDIS from landing there?" 

VERY LIKELY, THE VALLEY IS UNCHANGING, TIME DOES NOT ADVANCE THERE.

"If their Procrastinators are there, then I will get there anyway I can, but I need the TARDIS. Could you first take me back to Ankh-Morpork?"

…**.**

The Doctor entered the TARDIS, and after a few minutes frantic rooting around re-emerged triumphantly holding what looked like a large green jewel. "It's a homing device; carry this with you to the monastery and I can follow you right to the front door."

VERY GOOD, DOCTOR.

Heading hub-wards, Binky sped high above the Disc, invisible to mere mortals, lightly bearing Death to Oi-Dong. While in the TARDIS, the Doctor ran frantically between controls, all the while keeping one eye on a monitor screen as the TARDIS lurched around making weird noises even the Doctor had not heard before. Lights flashed in all eight colours of the Disc rainbow. "This place is getting to you," he muttered.

Finally there was silence, and not a signal lamp as much as flickered: the TARDIS had landed. "Well done, Old Thing, that was quite a ride." The Doctor patted the console affectionately, and headed for the door. Outside it was sunny and cold. The TARDIS was in a monastery courtyard and no one was visible. A skeletal hand beckoned from the dark of a nearby entrance.

COME DOCTOR, THE ABBOT IS WAITING. I HAVE EXPLAINED YOUR MISSION.

They were led down a dim corridor by a young monk who kept giving Death sidelong looks as though he could not quite believe who or what he was half-seeing. The elderly Abbot bowed to his two visitors from his chair, and offered them seats at a low table.

"_You will take tea? Our rancid yak butter is not of the quality of old, but we offer honoured guests the best we have. ... Death and I have met each time one of my lives has finished; we are well acquainted. He tells me, Doctor, that you are a 'Time Lord', and not of the Discworld._"

"That is true. Time Lords come from the planet Gallifrey, in a different universe to this. I am the last Time Lord; I travel the Time Vortex throughout time and space in a machine called a TARDIS."

"_There are tales of those calling themselves 'Time Lords' in our ancient texts, but in all my nine hundred years you are the first I have encountered. You say you are the last? Well, perhaps._"

"I too am nine hundred years old and am now in my tenth life. An interesting coincidence."

I DID NOT BRING YOU TOGETHER FOR IDLE CHIT CHAT.

"_Forgive an old man. Tell me about these Weeping Angels, Doctor._"

While Death sipped cups of scalding tea, the Doctor told what he knew of the Angels, finishing with the debacle of his encounter in the Ankh-Morpork cemetery.

Death brought out an hourglass from within his robes. I MUST GO: A RIOT IN QUIRM.

"_You will be back for me soon I hope? This body is worn out._"

THAT WOULD BE TELLING.

The Doctor had a brief glimpse of Binky half-filling the room before Death and his Pale Horse faded away.

"_There have been creatures similar to your 'Weeping Angels' on Discworld in the past. Our founder, Wen, heard curious old tales as a child, and took them seriously: they sparked his interest in Time. The stories told of creatures like small trolls with enormous eyes. They came out at night and anyone they touched disappeared into the past. If they were caught by daylight they turned to stone until night came again. So the stories said."_

"They could well have been the ancestors of the current Weeping Angels. What happened to them?"

"_It's not known, but Wen thought that some might still be here. He feared they would be attracted by the procrastinators or the Mandela, so he laid an injunction on us for all time: '_There shall be no depiction of an eye_'. There is much elaborate decoration here, in painted scrolls, carved wood and chiselled stone, but you will find absolutely nothing that could be mistaken for an eye."_

"What is so important about eyes?"

"_If a statue or such like had eyes we would know it was a Time Troll_."

"And what would you do? How do you deal with it?"

"_Doctor, this body is very old and needs rest. Rinpo is chief acolyte; he will show you the Procrastinators, and introduce you to Master Shoblang. An answer will be found between the three of you."_

Rinpo, who had been standing silently next to the Abbot's chair throughout, bowed ever so slightly. "Straight away, Your Reverence. Come, Doctor, you have the honour of being the first stranger ever to enter the Hall of Procrastinators."

On the way, Rinpo pointedly asked the Doctor how proficient he was at slicing time. The Doctor calmly replied that did not have that skill at all. "But you reincarnate?" asked Rinpo.

"Not exactly. I 'regenerate' to a new adult body; much more convenient than reincarnating as a baby. The Abbot is due to reincarnate again soon isn't he?"

"Very soon. Why do you ask?"

"I was just thinking: your chances for advancement may be rather small, but a rare opportunity for command is coming your way."

From the end of the corridor they were walking down came a multitude of noises: machinery rumbling, grinding, groaning, clattering; shouts and commands; a susurration like high wind in a forest.

"We approach the Hall of Procrastinators; prepare to be amazed. Even your Gallifrey can have no such marvels!"

The Hall was cavernous: long, wide and high-roofed. Innumerable great columns of stone turned, some barely moving, others whizzing improbably fast. A dozen monks were busily going to and fro tending them. The Doctor stood and looked around. "A mad factory inside a cathedral – only on Discworld … or Earth!" He brandished his 'sonic screwdriver', a bright green glow. He gawped at the readout and pocketed it. "So much time," he muttered to himself, and then out loud to make himself heard above the din, "Quite right: there is nothing like it on Gallifrey. It must have been added to over the years, Wen could not have done all this?"

Rinpo shouted back, "The very first Procrastinators made by Master Wen are still here, taking and giving Time. He lived long, but most of these came after he left us. Master Shoblang can tell you more: the Procrastinators are in his charge."

Shoblang had a small room just off the main hall, and with the heavy door closed normal conversation was possible. There was a grubby mattress in one corner and no other furnishings but floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with papers, ledgers, books, scrolls, tally sticks and what looked like giant floppy disks. Master Shoblang already knew exactly why the Doctor was there, and he looked troubled. "Doctor, I can dump a couple of hours on a small building a thousand miles away and not affect anything outside its walls. But you are asking me to give an area of land in Ankh-Morpork a thousand years or more. Accuracy with so much time is not possible: it would engulf the whole city and kill every living thing."

"There has to be a way! Are there any procrastinators nearer Ankh Morpork? Isn't there a temple in the city itself?"

"You are well informed. However, our temple there has only one small procrastinator, not able to manipulate more than fifty years."

"Could I borrow one? I could use the TARDIS to transport it."

"First show me this TARDIS."

**.…**

Half an hour later, Shoblang had seen the controls on the console, and been given a semi-technical account of the abilities of a TARDIS by the Doctor. He was much impressed, but despite his enthusiasm he was far from convinced: "It is a remarkable thing, a TARDIS, but even so you must have had difficulty bringing it here."

"It was bumpy ride."

"I do not think it could safely move a large procrastinator: there would be ructions in what you call the space-time continuum."

"How do we find out?"

"We, that is, our Qu, has developed wearable procrastinators which store just a minute or two. I think we could start with one of those."

"Qu? Great name, I'm sure I've heard it before … somewhere. Shouldn't we get him involved?"

Rinpo, who had been hovering in the background, something he seemed to do a lot, was at once in the foreground. "No, err, no need! … Err, I'm sure the Abbot would have said if he'd wanted Qu involved. Isn't that right, Master Shoblang?"

"Eh? … Oh no, no need to involve Qu himself, no need at all."

Although no expert in human relations, the Doctor could not miss the vibe. "Ah, am I detecting some negativity here?" Silence. "OK, just get a couple of these procrastinators of his. Bring them here to the TARDIS, I need to try a few things."

The Doctor, assisted by Shoblang, was in and out of the TARDIS non-stop, bringing out weird-looking gadgets. They began by dumping these on the flagstones of the courtyard, but the man who been sweeping these dashed off to return moments later with several burly young monks hefting a great refectory table. Behind them came two more bearing a large blackboard and stand. The Doctor muttered his thanks without pausing, and made a mental note to get to know the humble sweeper who had shown such initiative when Master Rinpo, the Abbot's deputy, could only stand in the background and look useless.

They soon had the blackboard covered with Gallifreyan script and scribbled diagrams, and on the table a sprawl of gadgetry. The centre of attention was a tiny procrastinator turning slowly within a jury-rigged assembly from which a thick, multicoloured cable ran back into the TARDIS. If you looked closely you could see the cable twitching slightly.

The Doctor looked very pleased with himself. "We can do better than transport a procrastinator, we can use the TARDIS to amplify the power of one and focus its delivery, though I'll need your help to do that." Master Shoblang nodded.

Rinpo was again in the foreground. "Master Shoblang cannot leave the monastery. Nor do I believe that your TARDIS can squeeze a thousand years out of Qu's toy procrastinator."

"The plan is to use the procrastinator in the temple on Ankh-Morpork. Shoblang assures me it has sufficient power. I will ask the Abbot's permission to borrow him for a short while. The TARDIS time travels: I can have your chief of the procrastinators back here almost as soon as we leave."

But even as the Doctor was speaking a monk appeared and whispered in Shoblang's ear. Shoblang bowed to the Doctor. "My deepest apologies, Doctor, but we have a difficulty: there is a problem with the Mandela which I must address immediately. It seems that the simple presence of your TARDIS is affecting it adversely, and this is becoming critical. You must leave in your machine without delay and I must stay to help quell the disturbance. May we meet again!" And he was gone.

The Doctor looked startled and Master Rinpo looked smug. "Do not be downcast, Doctor. Sweeper will help you take away all this un-Discworld clutter. Then you must leave, as Master Soblang says. You may take Sweeper with you if you wish; he can deputise for Master Shoblang." It is said that History Monks neither laugh nor cry; this may be true, but Rinpo got very close to a smirk.

Meanwhile, however, the sweeper had already carried almost everything back into the TARDIS. "Doctor, Sir, everything but the wearable procrastinator is now stowed back aboard your vessel. I should be honoured to travel with you to Ankh-Morpork and do my humble best to assist you."

"Err, how did you do that so quickly?"

"Take me with you and it will be my pleasure to guide you in the subtle art of time slicing."

"Let's go."


	3. Ankh Morpork

**3 – ANKH MORPORK**

Donna Noble stepped out of Mrs Cosmopilite's front door and quietly closed it behind her. Captain Carrot was waiting for her, and they walked together towards Watch Headquarters. Whenever she went outside there was someone to act as her bodyguard. They told her it was just to see that she didn't lose her way, but she wasn't stupid: it was to make sure she didn't loose her life; Ankh Morpork was a dangerous place for a lone stranger.

"We had a brief visit from your friend Doctor last night, Miss. He says there are Weeping Angels in the Municipal Cemetery. He said he's going away to find a way of dealing with them, and that we are to carry on searching in case they are elsewhere in the city."

Donna sighed. "It's **The** Doctor. People call him '**The** Doctor'."

"Yes Miss. … Anything wrong, Miss? Your accommodation not satisfactory? They say Mrs Cosmopilite can be rather short with her paying guests."

"Call me Donna, please Captain. No, I rather like the old girl, though I have slept in comfier beds … and worse, come to think of it. And the place is pretty clean, considering."

"Just 'Carrot' is fine, Miss Donna."

The Doctor's idea had been to 'embed' Donna in the Watch and get them to look for Angels. A quick flash of Psychic Paper got Commander Vimes to allow Donna free access. Vimes assigned Captain Carrot to help her 'and keep her out of trouble', and Carrot took his duties seriously. Unlike the Commander, who was openly sceptical, he accepted that Weeping Angels did exist and were a new danger in the city. He had begun inspecting the city's many small graveyards and burial grounds, usually taking Sergeant Angua with him.

"Carrot, how is the search going? Have you found anything?"

The Captain looked glum. "We haven't seen any statues at all, well, only ugly wooden things. But Angua thinks that we've missed the obvious: she reckons that the Angels could be anywhere in the city. High up on roofs, in cellars, dark corners, even out on the street; nobody seeing one would give it a second thought. Not in Ankh Morpork."

Donna looked around her. "She's right! We have been slow. Is she on duty, we need to rethink things?"

"Ah?" The captain looked flustered. "No, Miss, not today. It's … it's that time of the month. … The full moon, you know."

"That's a new word for it. It must hit her unusually hard."

"Well, she does say that she feels like ripping people's throats out."

Donna felt that way sometimes; this was becoming way too personal. She asked, "What can we do about finding Weeping Angels?"

"All patrolmen are on the lookout now, and I will be asking our agents to look out for them too: mostly gargoyles and gnomes.

"Gargoyles?"

"Oh yes. They don't move around much, but they have good vantage points and see a lot. The only problem is getting up onto the roofs to question them."

"Did the Doctor say when he'll be back? We need to talk."

Meanwhile the Doctor and the Sweeper were hard at work connecting the TARDIS to the one Procrastinator in the temple.

"Doctor, if you could slice time we could get this done very quickly."

"No we could not: this is a delicate, precision job. It needs care and attention to detail, not haste." The Doctor was getting nowhere with time slicing, but was not going to admit it. "Where is the monk in charge of this temple?"

"They say he has gone to get his hair done."

"I wonder what that really means. … OK, give the Procrastinator a spin."

Lu-Tze obliged; the thick cable between the Procrastinator and the TARDIS twitched, wriggled, and then briefly writhed before there was a short flash of green light from within the TARDIS, and all went quiet and still. "Whoops," muttered the Doctor, trying not to look alarmed. "I think," he said finally, "that we need a re-think: this is not going to plan."

It had been the Doctor's suggestion that Donna could look through the Watch records to find evidence of Weeping Angels: citizens going missing in suspicious circumstances; lunatics claiming to be from the future; that sort of thing. Though she had never temped in a police station, Donna had had some idea of what to expect. What she had found at Watch Headquarters was nothing like that idea. She knew not to expect computers, but these people had no typewriters and no concept of a proper filing system. There were chests stuffed with documents all hand-written with a quill pen; it was Harry Potter without the owls.

Finding old reports of disoriented madmen (or madwomen) claiming to be from the future and matching these to people who had recently disappeared unexpectedly would require either a superb cross-indexed filing system, or weeks of tedium. Donna was in the strange and exciting city of Ankh Morpork, possibly the strangest place that the Doctor had ever taken her to, and she was faced with boring office work!

Fortunately for Donna, a new development came to her rescue. When they arrived at the Watch House everyone was talking about the secret visit Commander Vimes had had from the Master of the Guild of Assassins, Lord Downey. It seems that three skilled assassins had recently gone missing while on assignments in the City. It was a cause of much amusement to the Watch that members of the Guild were themselves being killed or abducted.

Lord Downey maintained that there must be a 'non-human killer active in the City' and that it was 'the Watch's duty to apprehend him, her or it.' This was enough for Vimes to accept that there _just might _be something in the Weeping Angels story, and Donna and Carrot were called in for a meeting. "Your friend Doctor says that he has found these Angels in the Municipal Cemetery."

"**The** Doctor," muttered Donna under her breath.

"Did you say something Miss?"

"Sorry, Commander, carry … err … nothing," Donna stalled under the Commander's gaze.

"A creature that can take out a trained assassin is a real danger to Watchmen and ordinary citizens. If it is your Angels, I'm puzzled that we haven't lost any patrol officers, and no citizens have been reported missing lately. Well?"

Carrot cleared his throat. "It's the way that assassins operate, Commander, that makes them vulnerable. They lurk in the dark, alone. Our patrolmen at least carry a lantern and go around in pairs at night. But we have been lucky, so far."

"That makes sense, but I need better evidence before I go to the Patrician. Carrot, you will take two – no, make that three – constables with you to have a look around the Cemetery. You know what you are looking for.

"Miss Donna, you will please brief everyone on these Weeping Angels: how to identify them, their strengths and weaknesses. And where is Doctor, he claims to be the expert?"

"It's **The** Doctor."

The Doctor paced up and down, talking to himself. Occasionally he threw out a question to the Sweeper: "Is this the only Procrastinator in the City? Are you sure?" … "You weren't time-slicing were you?" … "The Unseen University! Could those wizards be playing with time travel?" … "Something is affecting theTime Vortex, any ideas?"

Lu-Tze considered this. "Something nearby is affecting time?"

"That's what it looks like."

"Weeping Angels?"

"No: there would have to be scores of them all round the temple." A terrible realisation hit them both: they were surrounded, alone and vulnerable. "Quick, disable the Procrastinator and into the TARDIS, it's the only safe place."

They were in the TARDIS and the door slammed shut even as the first Angel burst into room. Very soon, four and then eight Angels stood close around the TARDIS and others, eyes hidden in their hands, stood around the edges of the great room. Still more were beginning to close in on the Procrastinator.

"Doctor, more are coming in, dozens of them. Are they attracted by your TARDIS?"

"Yes, and your Procrastinator. The two together must be irresistible to them. I had no idea that there were so many in the city. See how they work together: crowding in, but avoiding deadlock."

"Explain please: what is 'deadlock'?"

"It's their one weakness. They can't move if they are being observed, so if a pair of Angels look at each other then neither can move again. OK? But watch them on the monitor: if a pair becomes deadlocked then a third moves between them and breaks the deadlock. Very clever."

"It is like a dance. But which one is the dancing master?"

"Good question. We know so little about them. But we must not waste this opportunity: if we can get enough people here quickly we've got them pinned down." The Doctor reached into an inside pocket, and produced something small and black which he held against the side of his head. "Donna," he called.

The Sweeper had taken the TARDIS for granted; had observed the congregating Angels on its monitor screen without blinking; but was startled and baffled when the little object the Doctor was holding squawked back at him: '_**DOCTAR?**_'. Was there some creature trapped inside it?

Donna had to ask the Doctor to repeat himself twice before she understood what he wanted her to do. She took a deep breath, drew herself up to her full height, put on her best 'I mean business' expression, knocked once on the Commander's door and entered without waiting. "You'll get your proof now, Commander. The Doctor is in the Temple of the History Monks here in the city. He says it has been invaded by Weeping Angels and you are to come quick with everyone you can muster."

"I must, must I, Miss Noble?" Commander Vimes paused and studied her closely. She endured his stare; it was a crucial moment. He had had his doubts about her and the Doctor from the start: there was something not quite right with the note of authority from the Patrician which the Doctor had flashed in front of him. And while Carrot thought Noble to be sincere, Carrot could be naïve. On the other hand, there was Lord Downey's news, and Lord Downey is not to be ignored. Vimes was not one to do nothing when in doubt, his decision was made: "I will call out the Watch and we shall see what we shall see."

When Watchmen of every size and species emerged from their Watch Houses and converged in double-quick time on a small, inconspicuous building in a cul-de-sac off a minor side street, it was obvious to the citizenry that something memorably entertaining and not to be missed was underway. Crowds followed them.

Half an hour later, Donna had shown Commander Vimes how he could use her mobile 'phone to talk with the Doctor. "Doctor, tell me if I've got this right: you are in your blue box, inside the temple and closely surrounded by these Weeping Angels. Right. Outside the temple there are more Angels, we can see them and they are not moving. Almost the entire Watch is surrounding the building and there are large crowds here too, watching us. … Now, what do we do?"

"I have a plan."


End file.
